


Chasing storms

by InkkEmulsion



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers: Prime
Genre: M/M, NSFW, Sticky Sexual Interfacing, Subtle passing mentions of Shockwave, canon divergant, mentions of broken limbs, slight gore
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-01
Updated: 2018-10-01
Packaged: 2019-07-23 05:43:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,888
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16152800
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/InkkEmulsion/pseuds/InkkEmulsion
Summary: Flying into hurricanes is a dangerous pass time but Blackout has done worse.Colliding with a Predacon mid flight however- that was a new one.





	1. Collide

**Author's Note:**

  * For [TheSoundlessVoid](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=TheSoundlessVoid).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey all! This is a gift for a good friend of mine. Very AU'ish, where Shockwave left the Decepticons after being seemingly abandoned on Cybertron, and Predaking was created free from contact with Starscream. 
> 
> A bit of a silly rare pair thing, but enjoy.

They come across each other in the strangest of circumstance.

Vast oceanic storms blew in every so often to the isolated chain of growing volcanic islands. Many of the clan preferred to shelter then, deep underground where the worst of the gale force winds and salty air couldn’t touch them, young huddled around protectively as for some it was their first time experiencing a tropical storm. Predaking however rode the vast currents full of gusts strong enough to cause difficulty for even the strongest of fliers. 

This time around a hurricane had chosen to pass through, an F5 judging by the mountains of water pulled into its eye and discarded just as easily. There was nothing stopping this monstrous force, only bending to its power and bend the world did as trees and fauna alike were uprooted from the ground and launched far away. Predaking himself was impressed with the challenge before him; scaling thousands of feet into the air larger than any he had seen before as scarlet wings carried him deep into the clouds. Plating immediately dampened with moisture as it felt like flying into a wall but he pushed onwards, flying up and faster persevering where no human vehicle could. The eye of the storm arrived in an instant, and below gazing down into the sudden calm abyss were the beginnings of the coral reefs. A perfect circle of greys and white, occasionally smattered with the swathes of tropical blue as the water came crashing down or vacuumed up. 

For awhile, he simply coasts these updrafts leisurely in the stratosphere, so high up that even the storm began to lose its almighty grip on his frame and water droplets turn to ice. The pressure drops and gravity is on the brink of lessoning right as he dives with behemoth wings tucked close. Wind whips against tempered plating stinging from the sheer intensity but soon he dives downwards into the vast reaches of the hurricane and the eye closes in around him, the centre feeling so much smaller when in the centre of it all instead of cresting over the edge. Halfway down his wings flare open in a vast pull to slow down and with a wrench which borders on dislocating an appendage the dragon is sent upwards again as a particularly strong updraft forces through the vacuum. 

The only warning given is the sudden prickling of his spines that something is fast approaching- or he is approaching it. What happens next is unclear to the Predacon other than something large and blue impacts with him, a searing pain as something cuts through softer wing membrane and all of a sudden he’s falling into the tempest wall with no way to really stop, tangled with this thing now blinded from his view as they enter the storm wall. He struggles to let go but the blades? Claws? Have cut deep and in a dreadful roll of tanks and a thrill of panic he manages to scramble free just enough to provide a non-lethal landing in the waves below, wings screaming the entire way as they take the brunt of the impact. The hurricane takes its toll, forcing them under the shallower waters as the reefs are cast into chaos. How long Predaking is under and borderline unconscious he doesn’t know, but when he does come to, there is a strange looking mech still tangled in his armour, long since knocked offline.

 

\-----

 

“...Uggghhh...”

Blackout’s first sense to really come online is his pain receptors, fatigue racking his systems for a reason he can’t quite remember. That alone is cause for concern but he doesn’t panic... Yet. The last thing he remembers is flying, a storm bigger than most he’d ever seen and- a flash of red and gold. Nothing more beyond that point. “...ssss’goiin on?” He slurs worse than usual, mentally counting all his limbs were there and reaching out for something solid. It almost felt embarrassing the amount of times he’d had to do that throughout the war, taking stock of his own frame post accidents. Optics finally calibrate properly as he grasps the metal slab beneath him and steadily hauls himself into somewhat of a position, leaning on an arm which didn’t feel like Optimus Prime and Megatron had decided to double team against him and won. “Th’ fuck m’ I?” The tyton got out through a toothy grimace as he gazed around the newly discovered environment with a deep-set frown. This was no medbay he knew, and that was either a good or downright terrible thing.

The space seemed large enough even by his standards which was the first clue it was nowhere close to ‘home’. The medical berths were larger than him, and the equipment while in good condition wasn’t exactly the most modern looking editions. More like hand-me-downs, given to the owner or salvaged from whatever was available. The room was also clean but definitely in constant use- the floor had worn patterns from the entry way to various places. In some places there were impressive dents, caused by unknown factors. Glancing at his own frame the ‘copter confirmed he at least wasn’t restrained, but his armour had definitely been heavily dented in places and where ruptures had been inflicted? Careful patchwork stopping the flow and medi-gel lavished onto exposed gashes to encourage nanite growth. Couldn’t be an Autobot base- they would have restrained him long ago. He’d probably wake up in the brig still bleeding, to which he snorted at the thought. Shame. If the Prime wasn’t so sworn to their ‘code of honour’...

The sound of someone approaching had him scrambling (falling) off the medical berth and regretting it but the battle protocols after millions of years kept him alive. Ducking behind the nearest pillar (finding somehow, this wasn’t bad cover) he onlined the canons bound to his wrists and servos and listened hard, the familiar and almost comforting whine of plasma powering up his saving grace right now. The door opened and Blackout almost shot the moment the figure was spotted, so vast and taller than even Megatron and twice as nasty looking. The blast was stilled just in time, the (definitely, but definitely not one of JJ’s) Predacon shielding themselves but refusing to back away.

When no further aggressive moves were made on either side after a tense few moments of stalemate, the truly titanic stranger spoke up. “Is it customary to shoot all who emerge into a medical bay? I thought Medics were universally protected,” they begin as their arms lower, some gnarly claws that had Blackouts optics trained on them tensing for a moment. “’ve never seen the war then,” Blackout replies with a neutral almost dismissive tone, mismatching optics watching them carefully. “Who’re you?”

Predaking focuses on them carefully, watching Blackout’s body language with the utmost attention to ensure an attack wouldn’t occur from the blue. “Predaking. We encountered in the hurricane and were left flight disabled. Had my wings not taken the impact, there is a good chance we would not be alive today.” The sheer honesty catches Blackout off guard, accent thick and unique, very similar to the organics in Africa. The canons stay raised but the tyton thinks, recalling the colours DID match the figure in front of him- even if the shape didn’t. “I attempted to repair your frame as well as I could without risking my medic; I was not certain if you would be violent upon waking.”

Either they were very talented with being convincing or they genuinely were telling the truth. Something rare even post war. Finding himself too sore to care anymore the tyton lowers his guard, slinking back to the berth and sitting with a groan that told of all the old aches in his frame. Predaking lowers his guard too, still wary but no longer looking like he was expecting a fight. “How long s’ I out for?” The mech begins, noticing finally that his new host himself had gained a large amount of damage to his frame too. Large gashes across his front in fact, and what looked like disjointed wings dragging behind him. Predaking approaches slowly, looking to retrieve what few tools were left lying out on the desk set into the corner. “A few days. I had to carry you to shore from the coral reef, and work on you myself.” Blackout looks spooked, brows shooting up in an owlish expression.

“You carried me?”

 

\-----  


 

The introductions were slow but soon enough Predaking’s intentions were proven genuine, willing to share fuel better quality than he’d seen in some time. Not quite high grade, but strong enough to be that if a little distilling happened or a lot was consumed. The first day alone was spent refuelling and assisting in repairs, the dragon himself had sustained damage enough to almost make the story they told seem like a minor accident. 

Their wings were fully broken, barely hanging on their bearings and while Blackout was a tough mech- he knew from experience this shit might not heal. Not in the way it should at least, gazing at the snapped tendons and torn wing membrane that formed once majestic appendages. “...I don’ think this is repairable,” Blackout mutters with a mild flinch as another rod is snapped back into its socket, Predaking baring it with a snarl of agony but nothing more.

The dragon hums noncommittally, strained at best. “Did they say the same about the parts with your golden scars?” 

Blackout goes silent after that with a small glare, focusing on his task.

 

\-----

 

The real medic is finally brought in after Predaking deems Blackout a non-threat, and they just about magnetise the two into berth with a near literal tonne of blankets, medical grade energon and braces set on wings and rotors alike. Blackout begins to protest and to his surprise they listen, taking note what to not do and back off when things become too much from near strangers. It’s strange and foreign, having people respect boundaries- other than the select few he trusts normally people had no problem with it until he got angry. Things go south real fast after that. It’s certainly his most comfortable stay in a medbay though, rotor mount finally detached for repairs until further notice and the more pleasant weather peeks through the windows. It had remained cloudy and wet for days after the hurricane, and many members that Predaking ruled? Looked after? Came up from the underground bunkers.

Walking outside was a trip, the stark drabness of the medical bay quickly breaking away into organic and Cybertronian fauna alike in a dense forest. The sea was beyond, now brilliant blues in the midday sun he had been cleared to go venture around in should he choose. It was like a damn postcard the ‘copter mused to himself, not minding the predacons too much now that he knew he wasn’t about to get mauled in his sleep. Being not the tallest one was also nice in a weird way, everything here guaranteed to not be too small for him. Chairs, berths, rations- you didn’t get this kind of luxury even being one of the important members of the crew on the Nemesis. His fuel level was always topped up to 100% and that shit was impressive. 

“wha’s the catch?” Blackout finds himself asking as he seats himself next to Predaking on the beach, joints creaking from age and wear over the millennia but the massive bonfire helps ward off the chill as the sun begins to creep below the horizon line. The monarch despite himself chuckles, helm tilted in their direction. “Does looking after guests require a reason more than simple courtesy?” 

Maybe it’s the tone of their voice, the way they say it with such simple conviction that makes the growing suspicion at Predaking’s ‘clan’ falter. “I- well yeah,” he drawls, chewing on his lip. “Nobody rescues a mech’ from the sea they downed, gives them this much fuel and goes outta’ their way to help fix em’ without expecting payment.” Predaking only smiles, optics alight with playfulness despite his wings still in large braces. “Perhaps not in your culture. Here, we do what we can, and expect nothing in return. Why should we? Kindness is not real kindness if things are expected of others.” Blackout’s expression doesn’t change much, still confused and not quite comprehending the situation. “Yeah i’ve tried that. Shit was taken advantage of- can’t say i’m a fan.” There is no laughter this time, only a quiet understanding. Predaking isn’t smiling when they look over this time, only subtle empathy held in amber optics.

“Our way of life is not for everyone. This much I know.”

The bonfire stayed burning throughout the night, occasionally guests coming to lounge near the fire and share treats before venturing off again, singing songs wildly as the night progressed into its true darkness around the islands. Surprisingly, Blackout found himself not minding the atmosphere, conversing leisurely if sporadically before turning in just before the sun decided to rise again.

 

\-----

 

“Now I know yer’ lyin,” Blackie grins as the two share real highgrade this time, strong enough to knock even a tyton like Blackout into being careful with how much he consumes. Somewhat. “Am I?” Predaking challenges, enjoying the jolly atmosphere of the clan dinners. Massive courses were served, tables and benches decorated with Cybertronian fish and plants this time, the meals cycling so the areas were never over hunted and populations given time to recover. Everyone had grown comfortable with their new addition, so now adults and young alike conversed like nothing was out of place.“Fucking nobody can carry me that easily. Even Megatron couldn’t- he’s the big boss too. Broken ever’ thin and waterlogged? Nah.” He snorts, taking a mouthful with a grimace, aware just how shitfaced he was getting. 

“I could. Want me to prove it?” 

Like many times before Blackout comes to pause with something Predaking had said. Could he? They never really exaggerated things; really they made things seem a lot less bad than they truly were in cases like this. Truthful, almost painfully so. Maybe it was the highgrade and high spirits, the final repairs coming to pass soon and Predaking finally able to remove that wing brace, the membrane healing wonderfully. Maybe it was the curiosity lingering the more he spent with the Predacon leader, someone able to tear through such a task with ease. Despite his better judgement drowned out by a sea of liquid courage, Blackout nodded with only a fraction of hesitation. “Yeah. Prove it.”

Some that were half listening in to the conversation ‘ohhhh’ed in response, suddenly a lot more people interested in what was about to transpire as eager Predacons turned to look as the din picked up. Predaking stood, gesturing for them to follow and for an instant he wondered whether this was a bad idea or not, daring a (still injured) Predacon to lift him up. Still, the mood was infectious with everyone whooping and hollering in excitement, grinning from ear to ear as their mighty leader stepped up to a (silly but even still) challenge. Soon a chant began as the two tytons stood in the centre, cheering them on and with a grunt of effort, Blackout was securely held in Predaking’s arms, no real indication they were too much for him. The ‘copter was held bridal style, the smirking (and intoxicated) monarch crushing the challenge with no hesitation and Blackout’s owlish expression spoke for them. The movement had been too fast and fluid to realise it had already happened, turning to look at Predaking with surprise plastered across their faceplates as blunt claws dug in to whatever plating they could find a hold for on the dragon’s unique frame. 

“Are you convinced?” They murmured to Tyton, still supporting them with a smug grin. “Yeah,” Blackout begins, optics still wide as they grip a little tighter into the hold. 

“...Yeah.” When you weigh so many tonnes, being lifted is a task few can manage. When it happens, it’s a rare moment and even then the feeling of being supported is usually tacked along with imminent dread you’re going to be dropped. Here, that anxiety was squashed down to the size of a grape and ironically splattered against the ground, feeling surprisingly light in the dragon’s arms. Predaking only laughed at that, setting them down and raising his arms in victory, settling to drink more and enjoy the day before his fate was discovered whether he was bound to the ground forever. How the dragon remained so bright under the workload, he would never know. They both drank heavily, enjoying the moment though a certain interest lingered where it hadn’t before. Being shitfaced made that interest a little less subtle, but enough that everyone uninvolved didn’t catch on (or so he thought). His open ogling of Predaking’s frame though was admittedly a bit much.

Amazingly they reacted favourably, even if distracted. He couldn’t blame them. Not being able to fly would fuckin’ suck. Blackout sucked down the last of his highgrade for the evening (medic’s orders, even if the medic had been a minibot fiercer than anything he’d ever seen), and instead decided to retire somewhat gracefully before he made an offer that might be regretted when sober. He had plenty of imagery to use tonight anyway and more than enough close contact with the Predacon to make the fantasy at least half way real in his head.

 

\-----

 

“So... Want to fuck?” Blackout throws out casually when assisting hauling in the most recent shipments from Cybertron, making the recipient of such a blunt statement pause. At last! The tables turn. They tilt their helm, trying to understand where it came from so suddenly and Blackout already thinks he’s made a mistake, already about to back pedal the fuck out of this situation but the monarch responds before they can slur out an apology. “Would you prefer my spikes or valve?” Predaking comments back, completely un-phased as the crates are placed down but eyeing them with undeniable interest now much like how one would a delicious meal, not far off how he had been looking at them the a few nights before. The complete bluntness in his reply sends a thrill down the tyton’s struts and plating heating just a tad, stuttering to respond when he fully comprehends what they had said. “S-spikes? As in, more than one?”

The response is a subdued but fang filled grin, curling at the edges of his mouth. “Of course. Two. All Predacons have them- as far as I know.” Blackout feels his mouth dry a little, already wanting to see this. Somehow reality was better than fantasy like this entire fucking island and fuck it was gonna be hard to leave once he knows what Predaking was packing- he speaks before he can think better of it. 

“Spikes. I wan’ both, right now.”


	2. Divide

“Oh fuck,” the tyton pants, pressed flush against Predaking and somehow both of those thick spikes are pressed inside at once, stretching his valve in ways only toys could really do. Ribbed and nudging against all the right places even small less forceful movements have the helicopter clamping down with claws and an arched back, letting Predaking make a mess biting his neck and surrounding plating. The air is hot and humid, fans on over clock and even still not enough to prevent water droplets forming on steaming plating. Blackout sat in Predaking’s lap for now, riding them as best he could but Predaking had decided to take his time bringing them to this point. He was nothing but thorough, the specifics gone over in brief beforehand. Blackout had eagerly agreed, letting himself be guided to the absolutely massive berth that was their quarters which felt awfully similar to the nests he built himself. Plenty of fabrics and pillows, soft and textured alike.

In an instant the momentum shifts and Blackout is pinned beneath Predaking, the rotors graciously removed before any true fragging happened. It was no small feat to make the tyton seem weightless, a startled noise torn from his throat which was quickly silenced with more thrusts given more impact from this new position. The warmth was almost suffocating, Blackout taking great grooves of paint from whatever he could reach with blunted claws as node clusters were lit up all along his valve. A particularly rough slam had his optics blazing with colour for a moment, Predaking cursing as the charge between the two became nigh unbearable. 

Metal had long since dented all around thighs, paint transfers and scrapes all over their frames with each impact and without time to get out a real warning Blackout was pushed over the edge, swearing the whole way and helm lulled back in stark contrast with the tightness his frame bowed. Claws pierced in this time long Predaking’s forearms and back, drawing energon as Blackout overloaded with a fierceness and bellow few could match. The Predacon was not far behind, following seconds later with a roar and pulling out to spurt transfluid across their abdomens. 

The room was filled with harsh panting and the whine of overworked systems, fans doing what they could do cool down without melting in the process. From the previous tenseness Blackout had melted into the covers, looking fairly exhausted compared to the still somewhat active Predacon. Long moments stretched out in bliss and companionable silence, the noble still perched carefully over Blackout as he figured out where to move next without making a mess. The ‘copters optics flickered on to take in the state of his partner and chuckled, deep and bass-y at the transfluid both his own and Blackout’s decorating the tribal plating. “Hot,” he huffs, a lazy smirk stretching on his lips. “One to talk,” Predaking grunts back, deciding to disregard social etiquette and instead lick clean where the transfluid had dirtied both himself and his partner. The dragon makes a point not to mention the shaky breath sucked in when his glossa laps away a particularly messy streak, letting the smart mouth suffer for awhile. “Never took ya for the type,” he murmurs, digits coming up to stroke the tines and crests of Predaking’s helm half curiously, half in an act of mindless affection. 

“There is a lot you don’t know,” he rumbles back, cleaning the last drops from his talons with a smirk and a nudge into their hand. “Are you still interested in more?” He puts forward the offer, optics dim but still smouldering with clear lust and it has Blackout swallowing dryly. “I- ah... I ain’t as young as I used to be,” he begins, not liking to disappoint after such a railing from the Predacon. Predaking however just snorts, as if the information means nothing to him. “That does not mean I cannot enjoy eating you out. Dealers choice, as it were,” Predaking offers again, tilting his helm playfully. “I also welcome resting however if you have no further interest.” Blackout blinks owlishly, somewhat surprised at the lingering interest. “Y-you don’ mind? Most find it a turn off n’ I can’t return the favour much more than once,” 

Predaking snorts again, displeased with that information. “Clearly they aren’t a good lay then. Lay back- you may return the favour if you wish another time. I want my fill of your valve in another way.”

While the first two hours had been spent working each other up in a brutal fashion, fucking for all the word was worth in different places and positions, the next few were spent lazily exploring and building a pleasurable haze as charge slowly rose. Blackout quickly discovered that Predaking had a preference for oral on his partners and Primus was he good at it- the beasts tongue more like a spike as he was eaten out with enthusiasm as though he were a delicious gift. His valve had seen more action in the past day than it had in 6 months and man, was he going to ache after this but as attention was laved over his external node and a second overload snuck up on him in a way that had him writhing, he couldn’t find a reason to care. 

It almost pissed Blackout off just how good he was at certain other things too, easing tension in joints hard to reach for the ‘copter which had him sighing in a different kind of bliss. He returned the favour when he could, wanting to touch those gnarly looking wings which soon would or wouldn’t fly and the armour pieces that surrounded. More than once he pleasantly stumbled onto erogenous areas in his quest and had Predaking purring under his war-stained servos, at times gasping out moans and encouraging heavier touches. That one had ended in a tactile overload, much to his now boosted ego’s pleasure. Eventually the two finally called it quits, flopping down into the somewhat messy nest which very distinctly smelt like them, mild hints of engex and interface. It was gonna be a joy explaining to the medic when she woke up tomorrow just what caused all those puncture wounds.

 

\-----

 

The day came to see if Predaking could fly again, the final preparations made to remove what structural supports he had from the splints and see if they had truly repaired themselves. Many waited outside anxiously as the work was done in the medbay, Blackout included as he gnawed nervously on his cygar. They hadn’t known each other long, but he knew Predaking didn’t deserve to be grounded- not after... Whatever these weeks had been. Whatever they were to each other. The nights together (it had definitely been a repeat performance, who knows how long before the next meeting) had given him ample opportunity to assess the situation and it LOOKED like they were fine... But looks were deceiving. He knew nothing about Predacon anatomy and the struts weren’t visible behind their braces.

The medic emerged from locked doors, forcing the clan to move away and make room so Predaking had the space he needed. Fuck he’d never get used to just how big Predaking was in alt mode- if they even called it that here. He was at least triple the size of his already massive bipedal mode, and the wingspan was like nothing he had ever seen before. Not even his bitch of a brother, Blackout noted with a moment of passing bitterness.

The vast sails of wing fibre had healed with minimal marking, only faint light outlines of scars able to be traced where once they had been split. The struts themselves looked stable, if somewhat scarred with glowing cracks in places. A jolt of realisation ran through him and it must have shown, Predaking’s helm gazing at him from up high before listening again to his medic. She lectured that gliding only was the key for the next week or two until they were sure all had healed, and this first test flight was to be done under the supervision of anyone capable of agile flying as of now. Blackout volunteered to be there beside Predaking when they launched off the cliff-face, which earned a steely glare in response. “Your helicopter blades could do far worse damage than they already have!” 

“I don’ have to be a helicopter t’ fly. I got wings of my own,” He replies, matching their glare and murmurs spread out across the audience. Stepping forward to challenge him the holographic feathers gifted to him long ago flickered to life, set to soar mode with long vulture like wings forming to the visible delight of all who were present. A few tried to scoot forward and inspect them further, but the medic sighed impatiently. “Fine. You’re big enough- you’ll be there to help guide him if those wings are softer than they look. You,” The medic grunts with a jerk of her helm to the waiting Predaking. “To the cliffs. We find out now.”

 

\-----

 

“Ready?” Blackout nudges Predaking on the side, feeling the breeze pick up from the near mountainous ledge and enjoying the subtle thrill racing through his circuits that flying have him every time. The draconic helm bows, a kind of nod in response and equally mountainous wings splayed to catch the wind head on. ::You never mentioned those wings,:: Predaking mentions on their comm line, optics set straight ahead. 

::Ya’ never asked.::

In an instant the dragon launches forward into their run up, gaining momentum and with the grace of a practiced flier Predaking angles himself to the wind and—for a moment he plummets, the wind not quite powerful enough and Blackout takes off with the intent to help but a powerful up gust brings power to their flight and he’s airborne, appendages stretched far as the gust brought him nearly to the height of the mountain. With an almost nervous laugh the tyton joins the flight, letting the air currents do the work for him and soon the two are circling like the apex of their races that they were.

The feeling of flying again burned bright in Predaking, spark feeling swollen from the joy and tasting embers lingering on his glossa as the two played a game of tag not long after the first initial fright. Swerving and diving, the view of the island chain was something Blackout had seen before but not to this raw splendour. Humans had ruined many natural land masses but above, up here? The volcanic chain looked uninhabited, nothing but perfect crystal reefs and partially Cyberformed landmasses mingling in harmony with organic matter. Probably from that one eye’d fuck that had forged his gold years back now- they never did call in that favour. A disturbance in the water not 600 ft from the shoreline caught Blackout’s attention and with a subtle tilt of wings, the two were careening over to check it out. Plumes of waterspouts quickly answered their assessment, flying just slightly lower to enjoy the sight of Synthwhales breaching the surface with calves close behind. 

A genuine grin broke out on Blackout’s scarred face, circling with enthusiasm before rejoining Predaking and making their way back to land. The decent was slow, ensuring the landing was as soft as possible when the dragon came in and finally made contact with the land again and swiftly transformed. He’d only been up there for an hour at 1000 ft but the clan were so excited over the confirmed recovery of their leader that the mood shifted from nervous to exuberant in moments. With some more care, the king would be flying just as strongly as before. The news brought a note of relief to his spark- but also a note of something else. The longing to fly again brought on by his most recent adventure, never once dampened by the accident within the hurricane, came raging back with a vengeance. He was a traveller, never one to settle in one place for too long and with the recent experience, it brought itself to the forefront of his helm previously occupied with mild guilt and a sense of worry for his new... Friend?

A servo pats his shoulder in camaraderie bringing Blackout back to the present and Predaking grins. “Come, tonight we drink and celebrate. Join us?” Blackout returns it, bashing their side with his. “All’s ya had to say was drinks.”

 

\-----

 

Blackout quickly found out that celebrations Predacon style were no joke. There were play fights, dancing that was as well been a fight, and highgrade even stronger than the one he had tried previously. All the food was fucking delicious and the entire display was topped off with singing and music what had him hammering away on tables and benches like the rest of the group, enthralled by the atmosphere and finding he didn’t mind joining in so much after awhile. That food though, fucking hell. He was going to miss it when back on Decepticon rations under Megatron- typical energon wasn’t as satisfying as mechanimals or cyberfish. Hell even the plants were prepared in a way that made him curse not trying them before. 

He was convinced, this was all some super elaborate dream sequence where he got to fuck a dragon because he hadn’t had a good pounding in awhile and-

Another dance started up, one he nearly got pulled into but waved away any potential offers, claiming he was too shitfaced to walk right. It wasn’t a lie per say, but he wasn’t shitfaced about feeling guilty he was going to leave soon. It was a new family in a way- nobody had done anything to wrong him and if anything, they had been nothing but kind. It was weird. Even JJ’s flock had some who didn’t like him much and he’d stayed there for months before now. He gazed at Predaking from across the bonfire play fighting with some younger Predacons who had taken to biting his horns and he caught himself smiling- enjoying the atmosphere distantly. ‘Must be nice to have this always, somewhere to return to’. The darkness of the evening made it more homely, more food being passed around much to his delight and digging in without worry he was a drain on resources. 

Despite that, he made up his mind to leave early in the morning, just before sunrise. Better to leave the last memories of excited celebration than lingering disappointment. On his way out, a mug of engex was moved away from one of the younglings trying to get a sip of their carrier’s booze and the last bite of his meal was brushed off in passing. Despite knowing it felt right to go rest now, part of him wished he could stay.

 

\-----

 

“It’s time then?” Predaking questioned as Blackout prepared himself to take off on the shores of the beach he had once been dragged up on, similar grey clouds and high winds battering them both on the beach as the tides spray scattered harmlessly against thick plating. Blackout startles, not expecting him to even be awake yet but he nods, caught in the act. “...Yeah. Never did well staying in places for too long. Too constricting,” He gets out, speech still slightly slurring from the engex he had at least 9 hours ago. For the most part Predaking doesn’t question it, looking instead with a fond familiarity at the tyton and claps him on the shoulder. 

“I understand. While it was an unfortunate accident that brought us together... I appreciate your company, and wish you safe travels. Come visit next time you are chasing storms,” He adds with a note of playful teasing, stepping away and giving them room to take off. 

“I will- there’s always another storm brewing,” Blackout grins, plating bristling in anticipation for the wild hurricanes waiting for him just beyond the horizon and in that moment Predaking swears he sees an arc of lightning glimmer in their optics, electrifying the atmosphere as they take off with a mighty surge of holographic wings. Wilder than storms, stronger than mountains- the dragon agrees with his own sentiment as Blackout races towards the horizon line with a resounding whoop and the foreboding approach of echoing thunder crackling through the sky in waves.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed it!


End file.
